6 posts categorized "NICK ADAMS"
ABOVE: Goonies are Bidgood enough.
When it comes to following hot Broadway performers, Off-Broadway actors and chorus boys, I wouldn't say I'm the most dedicated, but I'm one of the most literal—in fact, I tend to run into them on the street and say hello. [Most of the time, they're thrilled to be recognized and briefly chatted up by a fan, though one luscious blond(ish) boy has looked at me like I'm wearing a vest littered with bubonic plague-laced needles.]
My own Instagram is filled with sexy men about town, and probably a decent number of them are buff theater boys, sure to please all you theater buffs.
Without further adieu, and in no particular order, here are just a few of the nonsensically beautiful, occasionally ecstatically exhibitionistic men of the theater who you may want to get social with real fast...
I went to one of the most riotously mismanaged press events ever Monday night—and that's saying a lot, considering I've been to hundreds over the past 15+ years, from rinky-dink teen parties to massive, mainstream clusterfucks. But oddly, as horrible as the press part was, the event it preceded went off without a hitch. In fact, the event—Lady Gaga's much-ballyhooed artRave—was really a blast, and would've been even more so had I not been having a bad age day and if I were more in love than in hate with her new record, ARTPOP.
I don't want anyone's "fucking throne" any more than Gaga, but I do expect to be treated respectfully, which was not on the menu.
Hear me out, Monsters, before sending me GRID-infected needles in the mail—and then if you're still not satisfied, hold your venom and just use me for the great pictures.
First, all press needed to arrive by 4:15PM at E. 35th and FDR to board a ferry, which would take us to the secret location, the Brooklyn Navy Yard. This meant it would be a torturously long evening, considering the party was starting at 9PM and rumor had it Gaga was going on around 1AM. But I showed up on time, only to find a gaggle of creatively attired Little Monsters cheerfully lined up on the pier, all hoping their chic sassiness would get them into the party, even without invitations. They were pretty adorable, but like gremlins, do not add water or all hell breaks loose. (I later heard zero fans were allowed into the event, only those with tickets, so it seems inhumane not to have rewarded at least the ones camped out and dressed up.)
The first harrumph came when I checked in, only to be told the PRs had no idea I was going to cover the red carpet, so they couldn't accommodate me. Uh, the event was structured as a press conference, tour of the space, red carpet and then party. Why on earth would I cover everything but the carpet? "I'll try to accommodate you, but it's very full," my contact said, unconcerned. Okay.
Ferried over, having to listen to some of the photographers being assholes (they're not all assholes, far from it, but they're like the dwarves in Lord of the Rings—very clannish). One woman always acts like Queen of the Event Photogs, relaying info to us like she's our union rep. Unnecessary and presumptuous.
I'm so glad this is not my living. I give much respect to my sweet pal, who was with me but who shall remain nameless so as not to jeopardize his standing in said clan, who manages to do his job without being a jerk and without letting it drive him nuts. (He's nuts for different reasons.)
My third Broadway Bares, directed by Josh Rhodes and assistant director Lee Wilkins and produced by Jerry Mitchell with a Monopoly theme, was the best yet even if the star power was not as jaw-dropping as one might expect for a 20th anniversary show—no matter, because who the fuck cares about Missy Tony Winner when you've got a stage filled with the country's best, brightest and nakedest Broadway dancers? The night was like one big no-handed edging session. I'm not sure if the experience is untoppable, but if it isn't, it's definitely a power bottom in sequins.
Jason and I (pictured, above) showed up at 10:35 last night to line up for the midnight show, only to find the line snaking out of Roseland and about three-quarters of the way to 53rd already. It was already a gay-list day—not only did I spot both Leslie Jordan and Paolo Andino on Ninth Avenue, but I got all blogged down by brunching with Kenneth from Kenneth in the (212) and running into Jesse Archer, Joe Jervis (pictured), Jared Eng and Andy Towle at BB. See, not all bloggers spend their lives in the pajamas...though I'm in mine as I type this. Hmmm.
They let us in around 11:30, whereupon we made a beeline for the middle, settling on the inside edge of stage right. It was packed and quite warm (a 90-degree day had preceded) but not too bad. I feel terrible for the cute guy adhered to me from the front (I felt bad, but he felt good) because my camera must have poked him 200 times later on. I saw some of the usual pervs—myself included—many of whom pop up in my videos from previous years.
The show started 20 minutes late, but it unfolded at whiplash pace. Dapper Euan Morton (so brilliant eons ago in Taboo) kicked off the opening number "The Best Game in Town" in a top hat and tails a good little monopolist, introducing us to the lovely ladies who stood in for the iconic game pieces. Each and every one was described in sexually suggestive ways, even the wheelbarrow—you can guess what she's capable of carrying away.
With no build-up, he introduced the biggest stars of the night, the resurging Vanessa Williams (don't even dream that she would be dumb enough to get naked again) and everybody's favorite Christian Broadway bombshell Kristin Chenoweth. The ladies were on point and suitably glam, sporting nice gams.
Josh's entrance (the other one is available to view here.)
Joshua Buscher, a West Side Story dancer in possession of (this must be official somewhere?) the greatest white behind on the Great White Way was someone I picked out last year as a dazzler; this year, he starred in a show-stopping number called "The Bank" set to Lady GaGa's "Money Honey" (OMG, or was he copying Madonna???) that culminated with him dancing totally nude while basically wearing two male peers. It was a well-tailored fit.
If you want all the minutiae about what the ladies accomplished this year, you might need to search for a Girl Culture blog; I love women, but I was so boycrazy I fear I will not do justice to the female-driven numbers. I do know that soon after a rowdy lipstick-lezzie lingerie number called "Connecticut Avenue", a talented, black-bustiered female Alysha Umphress crooned Journey's "When the Lights Go Down in the City" so well that I do hope someone went down on her after the show.
Last night was Broadway Bares 19.0, the 19th annual version of an event founded by Jerry Mitchell (who I interviewed last year when I was minding Towleroad for a week) featuring Broadway's hottest dancers and some well-known names performing in broad burlesque skits with original choreography set to familiar songs. The point—other than who wouldn't want to pay $50 to see the hottest bodies in New York next to naked?—is to raise cash for Broadway Cares/Equity Fights AIDS. Each Broadway Bares installment has a theme, this year being the Internet, hence the title "Click It."